


Treat Me Like Just Another Stranger

by Avery_Kedavra



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Extended Metaphors, Food mention, Former Dark Side Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Manipulation, Post-Episode: Flirting with Social Anxiety, Slightly unreliable narrator, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, and i'm so sorry this is a painful fic, because I couldn't help myself, i guess? he's trying but not enough, i'm so sorry i don't know what i'm doing, mentions of it anyway, mentions of logan roman and patton, no happy ending, oooo that's a tag now? spicy, spoilers for the new episode!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/pseuds/Avery_Kedavra
Summary: Janus can't say heenjoyedwhat happened last episode, but it certainly puts him in an interesting position. A precarious position, in fact. Once again, Janus is pitted against the rest of the Sides, and he wishes he could get used to it.When Virgil shows up for an unfriendly chat, Janus is given a chance to explain himself. But what's the truth, and how is he supposed to come out on top? Is there any way to fix everything he's broken?Is it even worth trying?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973821
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Treat Me Like Just Another Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I always end up posting fics at this exact time? Anyway, have some Anxceit post-FWSA because I’m still not done overanalyzing the repercussions of this episode. I also decided to combine this with a Whumptober prompt--I know, I know, it’s mid-October. Better late than never? I’m doing a different AU for each day, so you might see a few more of these prompts in the future!
> 
> (Title is from Ignorance by Paramore! You can find me on Tumblr at @averykedavra.)

Janus liked to play chess.

Of course, the problem was that he had no one to play it with. Patton didn’t know the difference between a king and a bishop. Roman would hardly deign to stoop so low and associate with a villain like him. Logan, despite being skilled, never had enough time for a lengthy game. Remus tried to eat the chess pieces. And Virgil, of course, wanted nothing to do with him.

So Janus played against himself. He pulled out two extra hands, set them across the table from him, and tried to outwit himself. It was always strange, because he could see exactly what he would do next, and had to nonetheless back himself into a corner.

All the other sides were such terrible liars, though, that he’d be able to see their next move regardless. Chess was no fun when the opponent didn’t bother to hide anything.

However, there was something refreshing about playing against himself. No cheats, no tricks, no layered teases to twist the truth into something unrecognizable. It was relaxing and dull and the perfect distraction on long, hot afternoons when Deceit was, once again, shunted to the sidelines.

Janus enjoyed it. Or perhaps he just told himself that, to avoid the sting of playing chess against himself, perfecting strategies he could never use.

It was hard to tell, sometimes, when he was being honest with himself.

On this particular afternoon, Janus had been enjoying feeding Thomas small lies, sweet and tantalizing like dewdrop fruits, leading him astray just a bit so Roman and Virgil could get angry. It was entertaining to mess with them. There was no real harm he could do, no real reason for the lies that edged on desperate--but Janus enjoyed stretching his muscles from time to time. A snake stirring in the depths of Thomas’ mind, lithe and slow and languid, knocking over his own queen.

It did sting, a bit, at how _vehement_ Virgil and Roman were. Janus was only trying to help! What, was Thomas supposed to be _honest? “_ Oh, yes, I was simply monologuing my mental breakdown with the assistance of two invisible aspects of my personality.” Janus was looking out for Thomas, and he had to admit, he was just a bit tired of them shutting down every singular white lie.

Not that he hadn’t expected it. But still.

Janus sighed and captured his own castle.

Eventually, he’d pulled back. He wasn’t going to muscle for a tiny slot in Thomas’ day, and there were smarter ways to get people to do what you wanted, anyway.

Thomas was honest.

Thomas got the guy--yay, good for him, congratulations. Patton was probably throwing a party. Frankly, Janus wished Thomas had gone for someone a little more endorsed in the pecuniary department--or perhaps someone that could forward Thomas’ career. Still, this Nico was cute enough, and Thomas deserved a boy toy after everything he’d been through. Janus didn’t deny him that.

Except he could already see the path ahead of him. The moves every other Side would make, crossing the board and lining up in defense. Roman had said it himself--how could it be true love if the relationship wasn’t based on truth?

_Very easily,_ Janus had almost popped up to tell him. Hadn’t he seen Aladdin? Or Beauty and the Beast? People lied to each other all the time. It was useless getting in a twist about it.

Of course, he hadn’t said that. He didn’t want to ruin Thomas’ moment by getting in yet another fight with his ego. He’d just stewed in silence, staring pointedly at his chessboard and flipping a middle finger in the general direction of Roman’s room.

Unfortunately Roman had summed up the general consensus. If Thomas wanted success in this relationship, he’d have to be honest and up-front about _everything_. Which, sure, whatever, communication was important or something. But not lying at _all?_ This was some new boyfriend to drool over, not an excuse for Thomas to go cold turkey on lying!

It’d be just the excuse everyone needed, though, to shove Janus back into the dark depths of the Dark Side.

Ugh. Acceptance, like he’d feared, had been a token gesture. He’d given away his allegiance, his position, his _name_ \--and it had all been for nothing. He should have known.

Janus took his own bishop, palming it in one gloved hand and resting it on the edge of the mahogany table. The captured pieces were lined up neatly in shades of black and white marble, biggest to smallest. He’d already wiped through half of the board, partly because he kept purposely slipping up to make it more interesting.

He sighed again, for no reason in particular, other than he felt he deserved to throw even a miniscule tantrum about the whole thing. Maybe he was being pessimistic--maybe Thomas would listen to him more, after all. Thomas _had_ lied several times without even thinking. The words had bubbled up, easier than breathing, sweet and sour and slipping from his lips. Janus had never felt as much power as he had these last few weeks. Little lies kept him going, powered him up for the bigger ones. And Thomas was indulging himself.

A beautiful thing, and yet, Janus knew better than to hope.

He was about to corner his own king. If he wanted this game to keep going, he should send the pawn out to front and sacrifice it.

Janus inched his king to the left instead.

Move, move, move.

Checkmate.

He fell back into his armchair with a sigh and tipped over the king. It hit the board with a thud and lay there in defeat. Game finished. And there was no glory in winning, because he’d lost as well, and the whole thing was nothing more than a performance.

Janus swept the rest of the pieces off the board, making a small pile in one corner. Then he set them back up again. He still had a few hours until dinner, and what else did he have to do--he was too itchy and energized for reading, and too stuck in his own head to socialize and argue with the other Sides.

Janus glanced at the plate of wrapped cookies on the nearby table. Patton’s handwriting peeked out at the top. He always wrote Janus with a little flourish on the _s_ , like a snake. And a loop in the J, which made it look almost childish, glowing in blue and inviting him to have a taste.

Janus turned away from the cookies and pushed a pawn two spaces forward.

He missed playing with Virgil.

Something in Janus’ stomach curdled at the blatant truth, but he didn’t shy away from it--who would he be if he did that, if he allowed his own knowledge to become twisted like his words? Instead, he let the thought sit in the corner of his dim room, flickering under the lamps and humming in the silence. Maybe he should turn on the radio. Maybe he should water his plants. Maybe he should take a mid-day nap.

Janus left one of his pawns out for the taking, just so he could swipe it off with his bishop and get a fleeting spike of satisfaction.

Virgil was a terrible player. Virgil barely knew the moves, and he second-guessed himself so much he often undid a move on his next turn. And that made him the best to play against, because try as he might, Janus could never tell what Virgil would do next. If _Virgil_ didn’t know what he was doing, neither did Janus.

Janus always won in the end, of course, but Virgil put up a fight every time.

Something creaked in the corner of his room. Maybe the furniture settling into position. Maybe not.

Janus allowed himself a little smile. Speak of the devil.

He waited for another creak. Instead, there was a shuffle, and a squeak of a door handle. Janus always left his door just a crack open, and that crack had drifted wide, showing a dim hallway and balls of shadows trembling in the cracks.

Janus pushed a piece forward before abandoning the game entirely with a swish of his hand. The pieces tumbled into their spot on the shelf. Janus leaned back. No more creaks, just silence--unnatural silence, the silence of someone trying too hard to be quiet.

“You know,” Janus said idly to nobody in particular, “you’ve always been terrible at sneaking around.”

A moment of silence echoed off the walls, and the door creaked the rest of the way open. Virgil was glaring at him, hands plunged deep in his hoodie, eyeshadow stark black against his cheeks.

“Deceit,” Virgil ground out, not taking a single step into the room.

“Anxiety,” Janus said in a lilting tone. “What brings you to my humble home?”

Virgil shifted in the doorway.

“Did I do something?” Janus batted his eyelashes in faux-innocence. “Why, I never! I do hope I haven’t been accused of anything criminal, dear Virgil.”

“You know exactly what you did,” Virgil said. Each word was biting and snapped-off at the end, like broken pieces of dark chocolate. The bitter kind. The kind nobody ate unless they had to.

Janus loved dark chocolate.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me.” Janus folded his hands in his lap and nodded to an empty, overstuffed velvet chair. “Chat? I can get you some tea.”

“You actually think I’m gonna--” Virgil eyed the chair as if it had spikes growing out of the seat.

“Sit,” Janus said firmly, summoning a teapot with delicate daffodils etched on the side. He poured two cups of tea and dropped some sugar in Virgil’s, because Virgil hated sugar and Janus certainly wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

Virgil held out for a second longer before huffing and stomping over to the chair. He flopped in it with such force that Janus feared for the springs. He managed to slouch even further as Janus held out the teacup, taking it in one hand and sniffing curiously.

“It’s poisoned,” Janus said idly, taking a sip of his own. “You’ll be dead in three seconds if you drink it.”

Virgil groaned and slammed the cup onto the side table with such force that tea leaked out and stained the carpet. Janus gave the carpet a betrayed look and it fluffed itself up and became stainless.

“So,” Janus said after another few seconds of Virgil’s glaring, “care to tell me why you’re in such a tizzy? You look terrible, with those bags under your eyes--did you get enough sleep?”

“It’s eyeshadow,” Virgil growled. “You _know_ that.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid not.” Janus took another sip of tea. “From my recollection, your eyeshadow was purple--”

“Yeah, unless I’m on edge.” Virgil’s mouth twisted in a smile. “Sorry I’m not at ease in your freaking _evil lair_.”

“You can leave,” Janus offered. “We don’t need to talk, I was busy--”

“Yeah, playing chess with yourself like a weirdo.” Virgil folded his arms. “And actually, yeah. We _do_ need to talk.”

Janus raised one eyebrow. “Are you ever going to get to the point?”

“Nico.”

“Nico,” Janus repeated after a few seconds. “Is that your entire statement?”

“You _know_ what happened today,” Virgil continued. “We had everything under control, and _you_ almost ruined it.”

“Ruined it?” Janus pressed a gloved hand to his chest. “On the contrary, Virgil. Who was the one who got us out of trouble _multiple_ times?”

“Me!”

“Oh, yes, you were being so helpful, dragging Thomas around and shoving him back and forth like you were playing pinball.”

“Ugh, can you--” Virgil clenched and unclenched his fists. “I was _trying_ to stop _you_ from messing everything up!”

Janus took a sip of tea and affected a blank expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil waved a hand angrily. “You were making Thomas _lie!_ Like, every other second! That whole mall trip was chock-full of lying and hiding and pretending and I’m _sick_ of it! We had to talk Thomas out of starting a _relationship_ under false pretenses!”

“So what if he did?” Janus asked, a bit of resentment boiling up in his stomach. “Unlike what our darling Prince says, a bit of deception isn’t the end of the world.”

“Of course _you’d_ think that.” Virgil growled. “Nico’s wonderful. He’s cute and smart and amazing and if you ruin this--”

“Why would I?” Janus asked. “He seems a reasonable fellow, if average.”

“Because that’s what you _do!_ ” Virgil burst out. “You ruin _everything!_ And I’m--I’m not gonna let you ruin this!”

Janus quickly smoothed his expression to hide the twist in his gut. “Ah, yes, my only goal--destroying Thomas utterly.”

“You might not mean to,” Virgil allowed, his expression sour and saying the exact opposite, “but you’re gonna. If you keep this up--all the excuses and the pretending--it’s not gonna last!”

“What a shame that would be,” Janus said. He poured himself more tea and stirred some honey into it. “It’s not like we’ve only known him for a day.”

“Yeah, point taken,” Virgil admitted. “I’m not saying he’s the love of Thomas’ life or anything. But--Roman thinks he is.”

There was a long, frozen silence that coiled in the corners of the room and made Janus’ heart squeeze uncomfortably. He stirred more honey into his tea and let Virgil’s words echo around, once, twice, three times.

Virgil’s words could echo more, if he wished. He could cut to the chase and make Janus leave Thomas alone. Virgil was powerful. How had he _forgotten_ that? How had he contented himself to watering down his own contributions, wearing a new outfit and a new look and a new life, as if patches on his sleeve could patch over his identity? Virgil was powerful, and he’d given that up, for what?

Janus would never understand him. He never had.

Once upon a time, though, that hadn’t mattered. They didn’t need to understand each other, they just needed to be there.

There was no one else to be with, after all.

And now Virgil was here, settling for yet another argument instead of taking control. He was sabotaging himself. He was making the game last longer. They both knew each other’s finishing moves, so it was only fair to meet in the middle.

Fair. Life wasn’t fair, and Janus wasn’t fair, and Virgil wasn’t fair, despite his complexion. Patton hated that. Roman hated that. Thomas hated that. But there was no denying that sometimes, you lost a game. Sometimes, you lost more than that.

Sometimes, there was no way out of a conversation, and you just had to make the most of it.

“Roman,” Janus repeated, because why not? Why not speed to the heart of the matter? Get all the cards on the table, everything out in the open. Janus would know what to hide when he knew what was there.

“Roman,” Virgil echoed, his voice softening. “He’s--he’s so excited, Deceit. He finally gets...something. To prove he’s not--”

Virgil didn’t finish the sentence, but Janus could deduce the end well enough.

_Not the evil twin._

It had been a low blow, even for Janus, the kind of move he never used. In the end, he didn’t want to win like that, at the expense of a good opponent. There was no fun in a game when the other person forfeited. There was no kindness in that kind of jab.

And he’d done it anyway, of course, because Janus couldn’t stop himself. He always had to win. He’d play against himself, again and again, and he’d win every time.

Lose every time, too, because that was just how it went.

“Don’t ruin this,” Virgil pleaded. “Don’t ruin it, or I swear, I’ll--I’ll--”

“What will you do?” Janus asked, curious for the answer despite himself.

“I’ll--” Virgil’s fist closed. “If I wanted, I could make Patton stay away from you.”

Something went sour in Janus’ mouth. The sweetness of the honey was suddenly cloying. He set his teacup down and pushed it away.

“A low blow,” Janus said idly, folding his hands in his lap. “Not very noble of you. In fact, dare I say it, that’s almost something _I_ would do.”

“It’s for his own safety,” Virgil snapped back, haunches raising. “He doesn’t know who-- _what_ you are. You’re gonna hurt him, and he’s just falling for it.”

“Hmm, not giving your friend too much credit.” Janus smirked. “He’s allowed to make his own decisions.”

“Not when you’re around.” Virgil’s glare deepened. “I can’t trust anyone to do _anything_ around you. You’ve got your fangs stuck in everyone, and they might not see it, but _I_ do.”

“Oh, yes, you’re so smart, Virgil.” Janus clapped his hands. “Clearly when you’re the only one who distrusts me, you must be the only person in the right.”

“I’m not!” Virgil said, his voice pitching up. “Roman’s on my side, and Logan--and Thomas, kind of--”

“Sides, hmm?” Janus huffed. “So it’s black and white again. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“You’re on your own side,” Virgil argued, and Janus heard his own words in that, what he’d told Virgil long ago. “Always have been. And I’m on mine. We picked sides, Deceit. There isn’t--there isn’t any turning back.”

“But you’re all about evolution, aren’t you?” Janus lolled his head to the side and smirked again. “Change and growth. Are you saying that--gasp--they’re meaningless?”

“It’s different,” Virgil protested.

“How so?”

“At least I’m not--” Virgil waved his hands angrily. “You hurt Roman, were a jerk to Patton, practically kidnapped Logan, and tried to sabotage Thomas’ chance at a boyfriend! At least I’m _trying!_ ”

“You’re definitely trying,” Janus agreed, rolling his eyes. “That’s why you came in here to rant on my behalf and haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve said.”

“I can’t trust you to tell the truth.”

“Then let me say something,” Janus said, an edge growing in his voice. “You aren’t the only one who has opinions, and you certainly aren’t the only one who’s allowed to have a voice.”

Virgil’s lip curled in something that was almost a sneer. “I’m done listening to you.”

“Too bad.” Janus raised a hand. “I could force you to listen to me, or you could do this the easy way and let me talk.”

Virgil held out for a second, before groaning and sinking further into the chair. “Fine.”

Janus nodded and gathered his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. They twisted through his mind and shuddered in the shadows and slipped through his fingers. Lie or truth or lie or half-truth or lie or lie or lie--

He could lose himself, if he chose, in this choice. He could think two moves ahead, three, four, cross and double-cross and double back and stall. Janus always had the option to play it safe, play it fair, play it by ear. And when he knew the world so well, kenw every tilt of the chessboard, it was easy to get swallowed up by every possible choice.

He could placate Virgil with kind words, and perhaps Virgil would listen, or perhaps he would get offended. He could force Virgil to leave, and perhaps Virgil would, and perhaps Virgil would shun him afterwards. He could apologize with all the sincerity necessary, and perhaps Virgil would smile, and perhaps his expression would shutter closed.

He could be honest.

And what did _that_ mean?

How could he say anything more? What did he want from this? What did he expect, for Virgil to back down? There was too much bad blood, dripping from the teacups, staining the floor. Janus couldn’t erase history. He couldn’t scrub out the strongest of facts, the deepest of truths, that ran through his veins like fire, impossible to ignore.

Truth. Virgil was angry.

Truth. Virgil wanted him to leave Thomas alone.

Truth. Janus didn’t want to leave Thomas alone.

Truth. _Thomas_ wanted Janus to leave Thomas alone.

No. Truth? Lie? Something in-between?

Not a full truth, or Janus would already be hidden in the depths of his mind. On some level, Thomas wanted Janus’ help. Maybe he didn’t _want_ to want to. Maybe it was complicated.

Everything was complicated these days.

Yet another thing that Virgil and Roman failed to comprehend. Good and evil were meaningless in the end. None of it mattered. Everyone’s little squabbles would coil into nothingness and alliances would rise and fall. Nothing was perfect, nothing was constant, and nothing was permanent. There was no use throwing a snit about it.

Janus had told himself that ever since the day Virgil left.

And now Virgil was here again, and the _truth_ was that Janus wanted to beg him to return.

Of course, here, he had to be selfless.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Janus said bluntly, and Virgil flinched. “This isn’t the end of the world. You know as well as I do that _lying_ doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. If it did, well, _you’d_ be--oh, is that what you’re saying?”

He expected Virgil to bristle. And Virgil did, for just a second, before his shoulders wilted.

“Yeah, kind of,” Virgil said, his mouth twisting in a bitter smirk and his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his hoodie. “Kind of. Not...not really, huh?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?’

Virgil sunk another few inches into the chair. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I’m not--everything I try to be.”

Janus swallowed. Something about seeing Virgil so beaten-down made his stomach turn.

“Of course you’re not,” he said, and his voice came out far too sincere. “No one is. There’s always something better we could be, right?”

Virgil chuckled. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“No,” Janus reassured him.

“Great.” Virgil chewed on his lip. “Any more words of wisdom? Are you gonna, like, defend yourself?”

“No,” Janus admitted, letting out a long breath. “I won’t waste time groveling. I just wanted to say that--you’re going to hurt more people than yourself if you try to stop Thomas from lying.”

“More people than _you_ , you mean?”

“I meant what I said.” Janus pulled at his gloves. “If you recall, such a black-and-white view of selflessness and selfishness _always_ ends well.”

“So we can just...bend the truth whenever we see fit?” Virgil scoffed. “Dude, no. Even _you_ don’t want that.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Virgil paused. “You don’t. That’d be boring, right?”

“Hmm.” Janus allowed himself a smirk. “You have a point.”

“And...you don’t like being in control all the way,” Virgil added, his voice dipping. “I remember. It’s only fun if the opponent has their own agenda.”

Janus’ smirk fell off his face despite himself.

“I...told Thomas it wouldn’t be fair to you,” Virgil almost whispered, his fingers twisted in his hoodie, “to do that. To make you the answer to all his problems. You like being in the shadows, you like having stuff be interested--you wouldn’t want to be the only guy between him and despair.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Janus snapped. He couldn’t help it. Things were drifting into unknown territory and his defenses were rising. Shields up, eyes cold, make his move without hesitation. “Or is it _you_ we’re talking about?”

Virgil flinched, and his eyes hardened. “Not everything’s about me. Or--me and you.”

“I disagree,” Janus said, leaning forward. “It’s always been about us--you’re the one who _always_ makes it about us.”

“Uh, _what?_ ” Virgil yelled. “Who was the one who was all _I just meant your name_ earlier? Not me!”

“Because _you_ refused to listen to me,” Janus fired back. “Forgive me for taking drastic steps to keep Thomas safe.”

“Ugh!” Virgil threw up his hands. “It’s always about _Thomas_ with you!”

“You just said the opposite!”

“Look, I don’t know!” Virgil groaned. “I don’t know, okay? You win. I have no idea what’s true anymore and life is a lie, you happy?”

Janus gave Virgil a searching look. “If not everything is about us, and not everything’s about Thomas, what _are_ things about?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil said.

“You’re lying.”

“It--” Virgil took a deep breath. “It’s about us, isn’t it?”

Janus bit back a smile. “Finally. Progress.”

“It’s about us, it’s--” Virgil swallowed. “Deceit.”

“Anxiety.”

“Don’t--” Virgil caught himself, seeming to realize how much of a hypocrite he was being. “It’s about us. We--we have to pick sides.”

“Do we?”

“No.” Virgil sighed. “We have to pick what the sides _mean_ now.”

“Do go on,” Janus said, leaning back. “I’m listening.”

“Ugh, it’s like--” Virgil rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s like everything’s _changing_. And you know I hate change. But like, it’s not gonna stop, and to undo the change means more change. I have to roll with it. Which is--weird. And really scary. But...maybe not bad, entirely? Maybe.”

“Don’t sound too optimistic,” Janus teased.

“Shut up,” Virgil complained. “I’m trying, okay? Appreciate it!”

“You’re trying very hard,” Janus agreed. Virgil could figure out whether that was sarcastic or not, because Janus didn’t know. “Things certainly are shifting around here.”

“I’m sure you’re thrilled,” Virgil said.

“Hardly,” Janus said. “It’s _so_ much fun being accepted and simultaneously rejected. Not a perilous position at all.”

Something flashed over Virgil’s face. “Patton likes you, and if Patton likes you--”

“Then Patton likes me,” Janus said, waving a hand. “You said it yourself. He’s a big player, but not the only one. Even a pawn can take down a queen.”

“Chess metaphors,” Virgil muttered. “Nerd.”

“Punk,” Janus fired back, and Virgil almost smiled.

“Anyway, I can dream that Roman will see the light eventually,” Janus said lightly. “You, however, may be too much to hope for.”

“Roman doesn’t trust you,” Virgil said sharply. “Not after all the stunts you pulled. And neither does Logan--heck, I’ve barely _seen_ him since the wedding.”

Janus shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction from Logan, to be perfectly honest.

“Patton trusts me,” he said, not sure if it was a lie. Virgil’s gaze skittered over to the cookies on the table.

“Patton wants to,” Virgil amended. “So does Thomas.”

Janus steeled himself. “Do you?”

Virgil blew out a breath. “I don’t trust you.”

“Of course you don’t,” Janus said, pretending his voice hadn’t dulled.

“How could I?” Virgil asked, and Janus didn’t have an answer. Virgil was smart. Virgil was whip-smart and fierce and fiery. Virgil knew better than to trust Janus.

“Do you want to trust me?” Janus asked, holding out hope.

“I _don’t_ trust you!” Virgil snapped. “You--you _broke_ that trust, you can’t just--you broke it! You can’t just go sweeping all the broken pieces under the rug!”

“That’s my job, Virgil.”

“That’s a jerk move, _Deceit_.”

Janus took a deep, slow breath. Virgil sunk back into the chair. He slouched into it so naturally. He’d been it in a million times before.

“Do you...” Virgil looked like he was considering his words. He stared a hole in his jeans. “Do you trust me?”

Janus swallowed back a too-sweet lie and a sour truth. “Of course not,” he settled on. “It’s not exactly my job description.”

“Did you ever?” Virgil asked, barely above a whisper. “Or was that all a lie?”

“Yes,” Janus said.

Virgil could figure out if that was truth. Janus couldn’t tell.

Maybe that was why they didn’t last--Virgil couldn’t do all the work of decoding. Janus had to pick sides sometimes. He had to stand for something if he wanted people to stand for him.

Janus would never be everything Virgil needed him to be.

It was for the best that Virgil had left.

“You never answered my question,” Janus said, when the silence shivered for too long. “Do you _want_ to trust me?”

“No,” Virgil said, abrupt and icy and hurtfully true. “No, I don’t. I don’t want that for me. Or you.”

“We’re better off without each other?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, lifting his chin. “At least, that’s what you said, right?”

Virgil had said so, too. And worse. But Janus, for once, decided to keep that jab to himself.

“We can’t exactly avoid each other,” Janus pointed out, examining his fingernails to hide the sting in his eyes. “We _are_ sides of Thomas, and given recent developments, we may be forced to cooperate.”

“Operative word being _forced_.” Virgil sighed. “But yeah.”

“No avoiding the truth, is there?”

“Nope.”

Another long, thin silence, carrying a million words that Janus could never dare to say aloud.

“Deceit?” Virgil finally asked.

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Will you promise not to hurt him?”

Janus blinked. “Him who?”

“Thomas.” Virgil took a deep breath. “Roman and Logan and Patton, too, but Thomas comes first. So...do you promise not to hurt Thomas?”

“I--” Janus hated the way he hesitated. “Sometimes you have to hurt in order to heal. Life is cruel.”

“No.” Virgil shook his head. “It might be, but _you_ don’t have to be. You _never_ had to be.”

“I could say the same for you,” Janus said, as if accusing Virgil of the same crime meant Virgil’s words stung less.

Virgil, to his credit, shook off the jab almost instantly. “Promise me you won’t hurt Thomas. That you’ll help with this relationship. That you’ll--give us all a real chance to trust you.”

Janus swallowed. “I don’t make promises.”

“Changes, right?” Virgil’s eyes flickered up to Janus, his eyes achingly hopeful. “C’mon. I’ll--I’ll try to work with you, okay? But only if you try to work with me.”

And it scared Janus, how fast he opened his mouth to promise.

To apologize. To change. To become what everyone wanted.

To build Virgil’s trust again.

But he’d been here. He’d been here a million times, when Virgil tearfully apologized after a fight and Janus did the same. Every time, they promised to be better. Every time, they lied.

Thomas lied. Thomas tried to be a better person, then a more selfish person, but in the end he was who he was. Change was an illusion, a lie. You were who you were. Thomas was Thomas. Anxiety was Anxiety. And Deceit was Deceit. Dress them up in outfits and names, but that didn’t hide the truth.

Janus couldn’t build Virgil’s trust to break it yet again.

He wasn’t that cruel.

And of course, he should be jumping at this chance. This was an in to real acceptance, a second chance, all that he’d dreamed of in the empty years without Virgil. The perfect chance for manipulation, too, to wriggle his way into the light and coil around Virgil’s neck. Every atom in Janus’ body told him he needed to take this chance.

And yet, he had always been selfish.

Virgil hated him. Always had, and always would. He didn’t think he could stand to give himself hope.

Some things could change, but some things were broken beyond repair. Janus didn’t want to cut himself on the edges. Janus didn’t want to waste time on his hands and knees. Janus didn’t want to put it together, again and again, postponing the inevitable.

Everything broke. Every game ended. The king fell over, hit the board, and lay still. And Janus set the pieces back into place and tried again.

Who was he without an opponent, someone to rival, a foil to reflect? Who was he on his own?

Fighting himself, dreaming up an imaginary opponent to outwit, and making mistakes just to make the game last longer.

Janus was fooling himself, and it would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“I don’t promise,” he said, and his hand dropped to his lap. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil’s face tightened. “Yeah. Should have seen that coming.”

“I won’t hurt him,” Janus pleaded. “I’ll try not to, but I can’t--”

“I know, I know, you’ve got to keep your options open.” Virgil sighed. “Can’t commit, won’t commit. One day you’re gonna need somewhere to stand and you’re not gonna find anything, Deceit.”

“Not yet,” Janus said. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Virgil agreed, and stood up abruptly. His cold tea sat by the chair, untouched. He slipped over to the door, leaving scuff marks on the carpet. “Bye, I guess.”

“Goodbye,” Janus said, feeling simultaneously like the conversation was unfinished and untethered and that things had ended in a very final way.

Virgil pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. Then he paused, standing there, one hand on the doorframe. A silhouette in black and purple. The purple was so gaudy and bright--no way to sneak around, to hide in the dark.

Virgil didn’t need to hide anymore. Virgil had grown.

Janus wished he was capable of that, too.

But people were who they were.

Every chess game had to end eventually. He’d drawn this one out, but now it was checkmate, and Janus had to cut his losses.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, quietly, and Janus fought back a gasp. “I don’t know what you needed, but I know I couldn’t give it to you, and I hope you find whoever you’re standing with eventually. It’s gotta be lonely on your own side.”

“I make do,” Janus said lightly, his chest aching.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil repeated, his fingers tightening on the doorframe. “And--for what it’s worth, Janus, _I_ promise not to hurt him.”

Janus opened his mouth and closed it again.

Virgil disappeared in a rustle of fabric, and the door swung shut behind him.

The room was quiet. Janus’ cold tea sat next to his chair, and Virgil’s teacup gave out and shattered into several small pieces. Cold tea splashed over the carpet, the same dark shade as the plants, as black pieces on a chessboard.

Everything was silent, and Janus knew very suddenly that he’d made the wrong choice.

But there was no turning back. He had to sacrifice pieces for the good of the game. And there was no way to go back in time and fix everything that could be fixed. He had to do his best with the broken pieces.

Janus pressed a hand over his mouth and let himself have one small sob.

Then he waved his other hand, and the carpet folded over itself, the pieces sinking into the ground and disappearing, as if Virgil had never been there at all.

Janus pulled out his chessboard, set up the pieces, and began to play.


End file.
